tracks of never-ending light
by Sunny Daisy
Summary: A hundred years of running and Caroline's pretty sure she never shook him off her trail. AU, future. Caroline/Klaus.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **TVD belongs to JP and the CW and I am neither. Title is from the band This Will Destroy You.

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**tracks of never-ending light**

A hundred years pass and Caroline takes up smoking. It gives her hands something to do, allows her to go outside and away from all the bodies in the club, their blood pounding in their veins and sweat making their clothes stick to their skin. She's not one for tempting fate, so she pulls out her half-empty pack of Marlboros and wanders outside to lean against the frozen brick wall. The cold settles between her shoulder blades and keeps her alert.

Liz Forbes would never have approved, but it's not like the smoking can kill her, Caroline reasons as she lights up. Besides, the nicotine bites harshly at her lungs and she's learned to French inhale, the smoke sliding up her nose and making the back of her throat burn. She had watched _Grease_ twice a week for a year when she was thirteen, desperate to be cool enough for the Pink Ladies.

There's an unread text from Elena on her phone, a now-empty lighter is rattling around in her purse and her hair is stuck to the back of her neck. She's a mess.

But it's nice to not care for once. To not have the terror of imperfection held over her head all the time, all ironed skirts and not a curl out of a place. A far cry from right now—she flicks an amused look down at her glittery dress and hooker boots. Her tights have a run up one side and it makes her laugh.

"There's the smile I remember," a voice says idly from the shadows next to her. Caroline stiffens, every vertebrae straightening.

"And there's the stalker _I_ remember," she retorts, flicking ash at him unabashedly. "Run out of willing Swedish girls, Klaus?"

He gives a low laugh that sends goosebumps traveling up her arms. "You know better than that, sweetheart," he chides, shifting slightly so that the dim light from the dying streetlamp reaches his face. Out of the corner of her vision—because she hasn't looked directly at him yet—she sees him narrow his eyes on the cigarette. And because she is nothing if not contrary, she lifts it to her lips and takes a nice, long drag, blowing the smoke in his direction. Her lipstick leaves a red ring around the end.

"Problem?" Caroline asks sweetly, dropping the remains of the cigarette to the ground and crushing it with the toe of her boot. She finds her tiny box of TicTacs and chomps down on one eagerly. Smoke breath is attractive on no one.

"Vice doesn't suit you," he says, his eyes tracing her movements. She feels a faint flutter of pride in herself when her body doesn't automatically react.

"I'll be the judge of that, thanks," she sniffs haughtily, leaning her head back against the ice-cold brick of the building and briefly shutting her eyes. Maybe he'll take the hint. Maybe he'll disappear back to wherever he's been all this time and finally, _finally_ leave her alone.

But she really doubts it.

When she opens her eyes, he's right in front of her face and she thinks to herself that she totally called that; maybe the years have made him predictable. His fingers curl around her arms right below her elbows and his skin is impossibly warm for Stockholm in the dead of winter.

"What do you think you're doing?" she snaps, aiming for Bitch Queen of the Nile; but her voice comes out slightly breathy, which is just _so_ annoying. "God, handsy much?"

She's not really scared of him, mostly because it's been a century and her heart is still perfectly intact in her sternum (or on her sleeve, if you ask Stefan). And then there's the whole thing where he's made it very clear that he wants her, _badly_, and he hasn't had her, so, you know. She's pretty sure she'll live on to fight the good fight.

His hips press down on hers and seriously, he's way too close and she's had one—okay fine, _seven_—too many shots for this. "You smell gross," she complains, trying to push herself further back into the wall. She needs her lower half away from his, like right now, because the desire to push her hips forward and let the chips fall where they may is traitorously burrowing its way through her brain.

His nose is in her neck and she feels his stubble graze her collarbone. _So not helping._ "Personal space," she protests lamely, but when her hands come up to push him off, they sort of just...stay on his chest.

"Caroline," Klaus says, voice all low and rumbling and _damn it_ she is so suckered in. Whatever, she gives herself points for holding out for a century and promptly moves on to imaging what eleven hundred years can teach a guy. Her last relationship was way too long ago.

Realizing that he is waiting for her to respond, she blinks and says, "Mhmm?" _Brilliance, thy name is Caroline._

"Your time is up."

Her dreamy haze starts to crack at the edges. "What time?" she asks, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

His mouth is on her ear. "Don't tell me you don't remember, sweetheart," he says with a grin, his breath warm on her neck and she narrows her eyes, one eyebrow arching up at him.

"I gave you and your gang of friends—" his knee is gently prying her legs apart but the fog of lust is long gone and her fingers stab him warningly in the ribs, "—a century. A hundred years to find what your little witchy friend knew and where she disappeared to. A century to bring me a Bennett."

Caroline fully shoves at him now, even though it's useless. He leans in and she presses herself flatter against the side of the building, the movement causing them to hitch together. His eyes darken and her hands curl into fists. "_That's_ what this is about?" she demands angrily, shoving again. Klaus reaches up to brush a piece of hair off of her forehead with his index finger and she smacks his hand away.

"I'm open to suggestions," he says with a smirk and she scoffs at him.

"Never gonna happen, buddy," she taunts scornfully, willfully ignoring the fact that they're in a seriously compromising position and just three minutes ago, it might have totally happened. Thank God he opened his stupid mouth. "Even if I knew where Bonnie went, which I definitely don't, I wouldn't tell you. Chicks before dicks, _dick_."

The corner of his mouth twitches, dimples flashing for just a second. "Have you been taking your vervain like a good girl, Caroline?"

Her blood freezes in her veins and she sets her jaw, bristling at him. "Duh. I'm not a moron," she snaps and when a drunk clubber stumbles out into the snowy alley, she takes advantage of Klaus's momentary distraction to slip out of his grip.

Caroline thinks maybe she can manage to evade him once she's disappeared into the throbbing crowd. The lights are flashing, lasers pulsating and a random guy tries to dance with her as she heads towards the front exit. She pulls her phone out of her dress pocket and types out an atrociously spelled text to Stefan, warning him that Klaus has found her.

She'd bet her rent for the rest of the year that she never shook him off her trail.

There's a nice line forming at the taxi queue and Caroline briefly runs over the map of this part of Stockholm in her mind. If she takes back alleys the entire way home—and doesn't stop to try and translate the graffiti—maybe she can make it to her apartment before Klaus has time to follow.

The hair on the back of her neck stands up and she scratches that plan.

"I'm not helping you," she says without turning around and Klaus chuckles.

"I expect nothing less," he says genially, and she scoffs, rolling her eyes at him even though he's still behind her. "Loyalty is quite the admirable virtue."

She does turn around at that. "Sure," she retorts, rubbing her arms in an attempt to look like a normal human who forgot her coat in her desperation to evade a crazy psycho stalker. "Loyalty to _you_."

Klaus shrugs, not denying it and it irritates her. "I'm not helping you," she repeats firmly, a little more loudly than she means to. It draws the curious stares of the people standing in line for the taxi and she scowls, backing away towards the end of the street.

"Aren't you even the slightest bit happy to see me, love?" he wants to know, voice light; it sends a shiver of dread down her spine. "I came all this way."

"Nope," she tosses back carelessly, looking both ways before crossing the street. "You can go find some other lackey because personally, I'd rather swim in vervain. But thanks!" She hops onto the sidewalk, dodging the sludgy snow and salt piles. Her phone buzzes but before she can reach into her pocket to pull it out, Klaus is in front of her, his hands wrapping around her wrists.

"Caroline," he says dangerously, and all the friendliness and casual banter is gone from his voice. "You seem to think you have a say in the matter."

She barely has time to blink.

.

.

.

When she wakes up, she knows immediately they aren't in Stockholm anymore. The air smells different, salty. She coughs as she inhales, her neck stinging.

"Welcome back to the living," Rebekah says casually and Caroline slowly pushes herself up.

"Where am I?" she asks, her voice hoarse from lack of use. She rubs the back of her sore neck.

"Louisiana," Rebekah tells her, examining her manicure with disinterest. Caroline tries to hide her wince; she hasn't been this close to Mystic Falls since she high-tailed it out of town a century ago. "Your phone will not stop bloody beeping, you know." Rebekah sounds irritated as she picks the phone up from the small table next to her and tosses it Caroline's way. "Tell your horrible friends you're alive and make them back off, darling." The _or you'll regret it_ remains unsaid.

Caroline glares at her as she picks her phone up off of the floor. Fifty-one missed calls, forty-nine voicemails and seventy-eight text messages—_fuck_, her bill is going to be astronomical.

Most of the voicemails are from Stefan just as most of the texts are from Elena—with a few of each from Damon sprinkled in there for good measure—and they start out only gently concerned. But by the end Elena has moved on to calling, Stefan's yelling into her ear and Damon mumbles something about everyone is going crazy so just answer the goddamn phone, Caroline.

Rebekah is watching her with a carefully blank expression as Caroline taps Stefan's name on her Favorites list. As soon as he picks up she says hurriedly, "I'm okay, I'm okay. Call off the cavalry."

He exhales heavily into the phone. "What kind of trouble are you in, Care?"

The sound of a door opening makes her look up. "The bad kind," she says quietly as Klaus smirks at her. "Stefan—"

Before she can finish her sentence, Klaus snatches her phone from her hand and holds it up to his ear. "Stefan, mate!" he says brightly, sending Caroline a smile that is more bared teeth than anything resembling humor. "How's Indonesia?" Caroline's eyes go wide.

Whatever Stefan says is too muffled for her to make out but Rebekah rolls her eyes and huffs. Klaus's feral grin remains. "Such vitriol, old friend. All that anger with nowhere to go is such a shame, wouldn't you agree?" Caroline's nails bite into her palm as she watches Klaus's face carefully for any sign of what Stefan is saying.

"Yes, well," Klaus drawls after a moment of silence, "I would advise that if you want to be part of this little adventure, Stefan, then you best book the next flight to New Orleans." He exchanges an unreadable look with Rebekah and Caroline says loudly, "Stefan, don't—"

"Just give me a reason, Caroline," Rebekah hisses, her hand jerking out as though the warning weren't enough. Caroline's mouth snaps shut but she flips them both the bird.

"Fantastic," Klaus crows triumphantly into the phone, hanging up before tossing it back to her and leaving the room. Fingers shaking, Caroline hits Stefan's name again, but it goes straight to voicemail.

"I guess you know where Elena and Damon are too," she bites off bitterly, swallowing the growing lump in her throat.

"We're nothing if not thorough," Rebekah confirms, flipping her hair over one shoulder and straightening her blouse. "You lot spread out quite a bit, you know."

"I'm aware," Caroline spits, leaning back against the wall. Rebekah tilts her head and gazes at her wrinkled dress, the same one from the Swedish nightclub. At least no one had tried to change her clothes, Caroline reasons, opting for the silvering lining. _Straws, Forbes. You're grasping at them._ _  
_

"Go get cleaned up, Caroline," Rebekah suggests quietly and the gentleness of her tone sets all of Caroline's instincts on high alert. "We've got a busy time ahead of us."

That hardly helps ease her mind.

The shower's water is hot but the pressure leaves a lot to be desired. Caroline scrubs at her skin and scalp, trying her damnedest to wash away the feeling of lingering guilt. It settles in the bottom of her stomach and nests there, burning at her insides. She can't explain its presence; she hasn't given anything away, doesn't _know_ anything to give away. Them's the rules—they know nothing: nothing of each other's whereabouts, routines, or lives_._

Caroline hasn't seen Stefan, Elena, or Damon in a hundred years—not outside of her computer screen. They don't communicate other than the occasional text message and every conversation is carefully worded to reveal as little as possible. She has no idea where they are, what they're doing, or who else they're with; only that Elena and Damon are together and she and Stefan are alone. _Typical._

The bitterness at the thought faded a long time ago, but sometimes it still tears at her.

When she emerges from the bathroom, her hair damp and her skin red, Rebekah hands her a set of clothing. "I know it's a chore for you, Caroline, but do try and look pretty," she says snippily and seriously, what is with this family and their mood swings?

Caroline pushes her wet hair out of her face and ignores the insult. "What's going on, Rebekah?"

Rebekah sets her jaw, all of the earlier gentleness erased from her face. "I'm sure if you think hard on it, you'll figure it out."

"I know the bare bones," Caroline says, taking the clothes into the bathroom with her and leaving the door cracked. They are her exact size and it's as creepy as it is convenient. "Klaus wants Bonnie. That part wasn't exactly hard to figure out, considering that he, you know, _told me_." She pulls the denim shorts up past her hips and fastens the button. "I don't know where she went, Rebekah. None of us do."

Rebekah snorts from behind the door. "Right," she says sarcastically. "You and the doppelganger know nothing about the whereabouts of your third musketeer, yet somehow the day after she turns up missing, the lot of you scatter the globe." She snorts again. "How daft do you think I am?"

Caroline combs the tangles out of her hair before squeezing the excess water out. "You have trust issues," she says sagely, pulling the shirt over her head. "But with a brother that keeps killing you, it's hardly your fault."

Rebekah snarls and yanks the door open. "It's never permanent," she grits through her teeth and Caroline raises her eyebrows, her expression sympathetic.

"Of course not," she agrees, her voice serene and full of understanding. "That would be unforgivable."

Rebekah's eyes narrow and she fires back, "When was the last time you saw your sweet mutt, Caroline?"

The subject is hardly unexpected but it's still a kick in the gut. "A hundred years," Caroline says honestly, the old pain flaring for just a second. "You know that, Rebekah. He left before Bonnie did."

Rebekah looks as though she wants to say something but a knock on the door, followed by its swift opening silences her.

"Time to go," Klaus says, and when his eyes fall on her, she makes a point of looking away as she slides into her flip-flops.

.

.

.

The sun is diamond-bright in a cloudless sky and Caroline fumbles around in her purse for her sunglasses, tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes. She's grateful when neither Klaus nor Rebekah seem to notice.

"So where exactly are we going?" she demands once her wayfarers are securely resting on the bridge of her nose. Rebekah scoffs and ignores the question to keep walking ahead but Klaus glances back over his shoulder.

"We're going to see a priest," he says as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. Caroline stops in her tracks so suddenly that the guy behind her nearly bumps into her.

"Sorry," she says to the tourist, who seems a lot less irritated and a lot more intrigued when she flashes him a bright smile. Klaus gives a growl that makes Caroline's grin drop and she hurries to catch up with him and Rebekah.

"Unnecessary," she rebukes Klaus, glaring at him from behind her Ray-bans. He looks entirely unconcerned.

"We have an appointment to keep, sweetheart," he tells her, his hand wrapping around her upper arm to pull her along with him.

"Aren't you afraid you'll burst into flames?" Caroline taunts, resentment flaring across her face as she narrows her eyes at his fingers. The whole man-handling thing is getting really old, really fast. "Since you're the most evil being of all time and all that."

"Not that kind of priest, darling," Rebekah says from a few feet ahead of them and Caroline _really_ wishes she'd quit it with the whole 'darling' thing. "Didn't they teach you anything at that wretched high school?"

Caroline bristles. The loss of graduation still eats at her and she thinks wistfully of how she had packed her acceptance letter to USC in the bottom of her bag before she left Mystic Falls. "Why don't you enlighten me?" she suggests sharply.

Before Rebekah can respond, Klaus cuts in. "We're here."

And now Caroline's even more confused because it's just a house—there is literally nothing that is out of the ordinary about it. There are some toys scattered in the front yard, a dog barking threateningly at them from somewhere unseen, and wind chimes tinkling from the ceiling of a porch.

But on closer look, the wind chimes are made of what looks suspiciously like small bones and Caroline's stomach starts to roll. Klaus strides up to the door and pounds on it twice, rocking back on his heels impatiently. The door swings open and a tiny, graying old woman peers up at him entirely without fear.

"I've been expecting you," the woman says gravely. "Do come in." She motions them inside with one wrinkled hand and Caroline follows closely behind Rebekah, jumping at every creak of the floorboards.

There is very little about the front rooms of the house to distinguish it from millions of other homes, but the old woman leads them into an inner room hidden by a long curtain. Once inside, the air in her lungs leaves her.

Bones hang from the ceiling, dangling low and ominous. Lit candles surround an elaborate altar and almost immediately Caroline smells the coppery scent of blood. Her mind races, the pieces falling into place—New Orleans, the bones, the altar, the blood—_voodoo._

Before Caroline can take another step forward, Klaus appears in front of her. "This is where you stop, sweetheart," he says, taking her wrists and propelling her backwards.

"What are you _doing_ in there?" she demands as they move out of the room, the front of his thighs brushing hers as he pushes her out. Klaus lets go of her wrists and pauses at the doorway, something dark glinting in his eyes. His thumb strokes her temple and runs down the side of her face to the line of her jaw; she jerks away.

"All in good time," he says cryptically and she's seriously about to scream at him as he vanishes back into the dark room.

She huffs at the closed door and collapses onto the worn couch, sitting there as the clock ticks.

And then realization strikes her.

No one's watching her.

No one's waiting for her outside.

_She could run._

Caroline stands straight up, hardly daring to breathe as she tries to stay as silent and stealthy as possible. She tiptoes to the front door, wincing with every moan and groan of the wooden floorboards. The screen door creaks as she pulls it open and she pauses, glancing warily over her shoulder. No one comes barreling through the curtain to stop her and, barely believing that Klaus of all people could be so careless, she steps out into the sunshine.

She walks as quickly as she can away from the house, casting nervous looks behind her every so often to reaffirm that no one is behind her. Jaywalking like a champ, she makes her way into the inner heart of New Orleans, the humidity making her hair stick to the back of her neck. Weaving through the crowd expertly, she pulls her phone out and dials Elena.

"Where are you?" Elena demands before Caroline can say anything.

"New Orleans," she whispers, hunching her shoulders as she flits around people. "Stefan's on his way, I think. Do not come here, Elena. I mean it."

Elena sighs into the phone. "What's Klaus doing, Care?"

"Hell if I know," Caroline replies, the hair on her arms standing up in warning. She doesn't look around but slides into a narrow alley connecting two parallel streets. "Whatever he tells you Elena, whatever he does—don't fall for it. Nothing good will—"

Her phone is snatched out of her hand and her stomach sinks as she's flattened against the side of the alley.

"Sorry, Elena, but Caroline has to go," Klaus snarls into the speaker before cracking her phone into pieces and tossing them to the wayside. Before the jagged remains can hit the ground, he's pinned her wrists to her sides.

"Asshole," she spits at him and his eyes are pure obsidian, angry veins starting to appear below them.

"I don't think you quite understand your position here, Caroline," he growls and she swallows her nerves.

"Then why don't you _explain_ it to me," she snaps back through gritted teeth, testing at the strength of his restraint. Klaus's grip tightens in response and he steps closer.

"Your little Bennett friend," he says slowly, a frightening edge to his voice. "Her blood is the key to the cure."

Her heart is hammering against her ribs, the blood pounding furiously in her ears. "It's been a century, Klaus. Bonnie's _dead_."

Their faces are barely inches apart; Caroline can see the flecks of gold starting to stir beneath the endless dark blue. "It makes no difference," he bites out, "seeing as she left behind children."

Sudden fury washes her over and she slams her knee up between his legs, catching him off guard. "You _prick_," she hisses, jumping way from the wall and backing away from him. "You're not going near Bonnie's family! You don't even know what the cure is!"

His face is terrifyingly devoid of anger but she's still furious with him and it outweighs the fear. "That's where you're wrong, Caroline," he says coolly, taking her elbow as he walks past her, dragging her along with him. "I know exactly what it is."

.

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**tbc.**

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Drop me a line!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, etc. Title is from This Will Destroy You.

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**tracks of never-ending light**

"What are you talking about?" Caroline whispers, her face turning paper-white. Klaus's fingers tighten on her elbow as he drags her behind him and more than a few winter-dodging tourists cast them curious glances. "Klaus—" She digs in her heels in a last-ditch ploy to make him stop, but then just trips over a bump in the sidewalk, grabbing at him with her other hand to steady herself. Story of her damn life_._

"Patience is a virtue, love," he says airily, and just like that, all of his earlier fury is gone. She blinks, her head spinning a little as she snatches her free hand back.

"You're insane," she says slowly, pushing her hair off of her face in annoyance. "Actually, certifiably, stick-a-fork-in-you cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs_._"

He ignores her insult as he pulls her down the street back to the voodoo queen's house. "And you are needed here," he returns easily, his hand at the small of her back pushing her through the doorway. As though that settles it.

The old woman pauses in her ministrations over a large bowl and peers up at them, looking entirely unsurprised at Caroline's reappearance. Large brown eyes, unaffected by age and time, meet her own and Caroline blinks first.

She pulls her arm out of Klaus's grip and, rebellion pounding in her blood, goes to sit cross-legged on the floor, her back leaning against the wall. She watches with feigned disinterest as Rebekah hands Klaus a crumbling book. "So what's the plan?" Caroline muses mockingly from her corner. "Stick pins in a Bonnie doll?"

Rebekah snorts. "So ignorant, Caroline. You would make a terrible voodoo priestess." The old woman is silent, ignoring them all. It's more than a little creepy.

Caroline rolls her eyes at Rebekah; it's not her fault that her knowledge of voodoo comes entirely from _The Skeleton Key_. "Well, damn," she says, voice catching slightly as the old woman pulls out what looks to be human hair, adding it to the bowl on the altar. "There goes my life's ambition." Klaus smirks. Despite herself, Caroline asks with morbid curiosity, "What exactly is it that you're trying to do here?"

The look Klaus exchanges with Rebekah sends a flutter of anxiety down Caroline's nerves. "Go on then, Nik," Rebekah says with far too much casualness, as she mixes hair, blood, and ash. "Tell her."

Well if _that_ doesn't send red flags flying up all over the place. Caroline's widening eyes flash to Klaus's, her eyebrows crawling near her hairline. He looks vaguely uncomfortable which has actual air-raid sirens going off in her head.

"Who made your ring, Caroline?" he says instead of answering. She bites her lip but releases it immediately when she sees how his eyes follow the movement.

"Bon—" she cuts herself off and springs to her feet, eyes narrowing. Her back touches the wall and she moves so that she's a hair's breadth from the door. "Don't you fucking _dare_."

"Don't be so dramatic," Rebekah scolds lightly and Caroline inches further away from them. Klaus has moved from his spot next to Rebekah and is slowly rounding on her; Caroline feels like she's being stalked like a gazelle. Her eyes dart pleadingly to where the voodoo priestess is now silently watching them, her face an enigma.

"Your friend Bonnie was essential to getting the cure," Klaus says with infuriating patience as he corners her. Caroline does not—_will_ not—shrink backwards. "Unfortunately, as you so astutely pointed out, she's dead." He presses in closer and she is so damn sick of feeling trapped by him. "We need to find her descendants."

The doorknob digs into Caroline's back and her hand disappears behind her, trembling fingers gripping it tightly. "And as we currently have no access to Bennett blood…" Klaus trails off, but Caroline puts it together. Bennett magic to replace Bennett blood.

So softly that even Rebekah can't hear her, Caroline whispers, "Klaus, don't…I—_please_." Her eyes pleadingly search his. _Please don't take the sun from me. _"I'll never forgive you," she threatens, voice cracking over the word _never_. There are tears beginning to well in her eyes, her fingers curling in on themselves in protest.

Something like softness flashes in his eyes but it doesn't last and he pulls her hand out from behind her back. Her fingers clench harder in their fist, nails piercing the palm of her hand. An actual tear escapes the corner of her eye as Klaus leans his head over her clenched hand and places a single, almost reverent kiss on her knuckles.

It's the last straw.

She jams her captive fist upwards, catching him right in the nose and completely off guard, the sick sound of shattering cartilage sending a thrill of satisfaction coursing through her bloodstream. "Go to hell," she hisses as his hand comes up to grip his face.

Rebekah laughs from her spot next to the altar, eyes glittering with approval. "Oh bravo, Caroline," she says delightedly, while the voodoo priestess continues to eerily stare at them all. "Do consider that to be from me as well, brother."

Klaus's head snaps up and he shoves her forcefully backwards, the door cracking where her back hits. Blood drips from his already-healing nose and Caroline feels a flicker of pride in her left hook. His thumb brushes the drying tear stain and he says lowly, "I'll get you another." It's a dark promise—after all, nothing with Klaus ever comes free of strings.

"Don't do me any favors," she bites off, eyes burning as she watches him pry her fingers open. He slides the ring off of her index finger and instantly it's as though some essential part of her goes with it.

With one last lingering look at her, Klaus tosses the ring to Rebekah, who catches it easily before handing it to the old woman.

The priestess pours blood into the bowl and begins to chant in French, her eyelids slowly shutting. The low murmuring combined with the sweet smoke coming from the burning herbs next to the bowl makes Caroline's vision swim. Candlelight glints off of the silver of her ring and Caroline swallows a painful lump in her throat as she watches it burn.

The voodoo queen pours the contents of the bowl onto the map next to the altar. Caroline's heart constricts painfully at the sight of melted silver—except, how hot does silver have to get to _melt_? Fucking magic. "There," the woman says, eyes remaining closed as she points to the thick mass.

Rebekah leans forward and signs unhappily. "Well this was an utter waste of time," she grumbles. "Of course the Bennett witches are in bloody Mystic Falls."

Caroline's lashes flutter downwards just as a resounding snap echoes in the room.

.

.

.

By the time Klaus and Rebekah finish erasing all traces of their presence from the dead priestess's house—Caroline had continued to sit in the corner, thumb rubbing over the uncomfortably naked skin of her forefinger as she glared daggers at them—the sun is leaving lavender and pink streaks of fading light in the sky.

"Don't be angry, sweetheart," Klaus cajoles lightly as Caroline stomps in front of him. She glares at him over her shoulder.

"Don't tell me what to do," she snaps back, and yeah, it isn't her best work but she's actually seeing red on the edge of her vision and she wants a cigarette _so _badly that she's getting kill people urges. Specifically kill Klaus urges, and that would lead to a very unfortunate series of events, all things considered.

They pass the Tulane campus and Caroline sends a lingering glance towards the multi-colored Mardi Gras beads hanging from tree branches, glinting off of the street lights as they sway slightly in the wind. There's a brief stab of envy low in her stomach, a mourning for the life she was supposed to have—graduation and college and frat parties with kegs—before she turns back to staring straight ahead.

Klaus must see the direction of her gaze because he says lowly in her ear—and when exactly did he get so close, jeez _personal space much_— "I'll bring you back next year. For Mardi Gras."

There's a shiver threatening to shimmy its way down her spine so she scoffs back angrily, "If I want to come back, I'll bring myself, thanks."

Rebekah snorts from several paces behind them. "Keep lying to yourself, darling." A witty retort—fine, just a _retort_, no wit involved—is on the tip of Caroline's tongue when Rebekah continues swiftly, "I'm bloody exhausted, Nik. What're your plans?"

"Bourbon," he says idly and Caroline feels the slight pressure of his fingers on the small of her back. "Hands," she snaps, pulling away from him. "And seriously? We're in New Orleans and your plans are to be completely lame and drink bourbon all night?"

"That's hardly what I want to do all night," Klaus draws and she flushes scarlet as Rebekah makes a gagging noise.

"How did you ever get into college?" the other girl demands, and before Caroline can _enlighten_ her on the wonders of sports scholarships and extracurricular activities, Rebekah continues, "He means Bourbon _Street_."

And okay, yeah, she feels kind of dumb for missing that. "Whatever," she mumbles, looking away from them as they stop to wait for the streetcar. It's empty when it arrives, save for the driver who gives them a single nod before returning his attention to the deserted street.

There's a familiar gleam in Klaus's eye as he and Rebekah stare at the driver and before her brain realizes what's going on, Caroline's mouth takes off.

"So voodoo," she chirps, voice unnaturally loud. "How's that work?" At the identical incredulity on Klaus and Rebekah's faces she clarifies. "I mean, in relation to the cure."

Klaus's knee brushes hers and she knows it isn't an accident when he doesn't move it away. "We need a Bennett," he says simply, and she doesn't miss how his fingers rest on her shoulder when his arm drapes over the back of her seat. _Always pushing_.

"Yeah, I got that part," she says darkly, shifting away so that she's pressed further into the window of the streetcar. "What's the plan after that?" She looks specifically at Rebekah. "Turn back into a human? After everything you've—after everything that's happened?"

Rebekah turns around to face them, long hair brushing over the back of her seat in front of them. "Not that you could possibly understand," she says coolly, "But it's been over a thousand years, Caroline. I'm _tired_, and I'd like very much to start living instead of just existing." Her eyes flicker to where Klaus's body is touching Caroline's. "But again. I don't expect you to understand."

The scorn in her tone makes Caroline stiffen as Rebekah turns back around in her seat. They sit in silence, Klaus's fingers grazing her bare shoulder every few minutes before the streetcar stops. Rebekah stands up, a single graceful movement that Caroline finds herself envying, and sends Klaus a speaking glance before gliding off the streetcar and disappearing.

"When was the last time you ate?" Klaus asks suddenly, and Caroline's spine snaps into a straight line.

"'M not hungry," she lies, and she feels his scoff of disbelief rather than hears it. "Just so you know," she adds haughtily, crossing her arms and looking down her nose at him, "The only reason I'm still here is to protect Bonnie's family from you."

"The only reason?" he repeats with a smirk and she wants to smack it off of his face.

"Well," Caroline pauses and considers him as one of his eyebrows rises in question. "This is my first time in New Orleans and I'll be damned if I let your evil master plan ruin it."

Klaus laughs, low in his throat and her fingers on the hand that is not next to Klaus clench down on the edge of her top. In anger, she assures herself. She's a veritable hostage, the victim of kidnapping, theft, and blackmail and she's having to fight off her attraction to the culprit behind literally _all_ of those things.

"Caroline," he says, reaching for a piece of her hair and wrapping it gently around his finger, "you're already damned."

.

.

.

.

Bourbon Street is a crowded, drunken mess of humanity and Caroline can't stop watching the crowd. There are people _everywhere—_hollering from balconies and throwing beaded necklaces down at every girl that passes by, stumbling in and out of hole-in-the-wall bars and smoking on badly lit corners.

He buys her a Hand Grenade and she takes it because if she's stuck with him anyway, she'd rather be drunk. She tells him as much before downing half the neon green drink in one gulp.

"Steady there," Klaus chides as the waitress at the tiny bar sets down a glass of Scotch in front him. He sends the girl a slow smile and says something low in her ear before turning back to Caroline. At her blank expression, he motions to her drink. "They make those strong down here."

"I'm going to need a few more to turn you into a ten," she snarks back, finishing the drink off in her second swallow. He laughs and she doesn't even try to hide her surprise when it sounds appreciative.

The waitress shows up again, a curved glass in hand. "Hurricane," she says cheerfully. "New Orleans specialty." She sends a flirtatious a wink Klaus's way. "Enjoy."

Caroline rolls her eyes and leans forward to take a sip of the drink, but as soon as the first stream of cold liquid touches her tongues she tears herself away from it. "You—" she sputters, her eyes narrowing as she glares accusingly at Klaus. Her voice drops to a whisper. "You _compelled_ that girl to put blood in this."

Klaus doesn't deny it, looking entirely unapologetic as he watches her fume. "You're hungry," he says simply and she lets out an exasperated breath.

"First of all—" she begins forcefully and he cuts her off.

"A century removed from your human life and yet you still insist on pretending like they matter," Klaus says with a disapproving shake of his head. "A word to the wise, darling—they don't. They are prey and nothing more."

Caroline rolls her eyes at him and roots through her purse; there's no point in having this argument with him. When her search comes up empty her head snaps up and she sets her jaw.

Her fingers twitch and she really, _really_ wants that cigarette.

"You stole my Marlboros," she accuses flatly and he doesn't even have the good grace to look ashamed.

"As I said," Klaus shrugs his shoulders. "Vice doesn't suit you."

"Oh fuck _off_," she retorts bitterly. "As if you get to decide that. You don't know the first thing about me."

He smirks at her. "Are you so sure about that, sweetheart?"

"Yes," she tosses back, her chin jerking up in defiance. Her fingers toy with the curved glass and she contemplates throwing it in his handsome, evil face. Instead, she opts for the high road and stands up, straightening her shirt and sliding out of her seat.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks softly, but there's an edge to it that Caroline doesn't miss.

She rolls her eyes at him. "I'm going to buy cigarettes," she informs him tartly and when his eyes narrow at her, she wiggles the ring-less fingers of her left hand. "It's not like I can go anywhere," she points out irritably. "And like I said, I'm sticking around to make sure you and Sister Mary Psycho don't get anywhere near Bonnie's family."

To her immense relief, Klaus does not follow her.

The taste of blood still stinging on her tongue, Caroline keeps her head down as she pushes past the stumbling crowd, her eyes fixed on the 24 hour store at the far end of the street.

It's empty save for a young mother with a crying baby; Caroline sends her a sympathetic glance before pulling a go-phone off of a spinning rack. She pays for it and for a pack of Virginia Slims—for luck, she decides as she lights one outside.

Elena answers before the first ring is finished. "Who is this?" she snaps and Caroline tilts her head back, exhaling a cloud of smoke. She starts to walk down the street, the noise of Bourbon Street at her back.

"It's me," she says, watching the smoke vanish. "I'm okay."

Elena sighs into the phone and Caroline can picture her friend in her mind's eye, sitting at a counter, long curtain of hair falling over one shoulder. She hopes Elena is somewhere warm. On a beach or something.

"What's happening, Caroline?" Elena asks quietly and Caroline takes a long drag before answering. She still isn't sure she totally understands what's going on anyway.

"Klaus thinks he knows what—and where—the cure is."

There is silence on the other end, then a muffled discussion. "What does he think the cure is, Caroline?" Damon demands and Caroline leaves her spot outside of the store to wander down to the water.

"Bonnie," she says simply and she can hear Elena suck in a sharp breath.

"The fuck does that mean?" Damon snaps. "Bonnie's dead."

The tiny sparks on the edge of her cigarette flare in the dark. "Not so much Bonnie herself," Caroline explains wearily, "but her blood." Her voice drops. "Bonnie had—_has _a family. Klaus is going after them."

She hears Elena say something on the other end then Damon says testily, "Look, Barbie, just do what you do best until we figure something out, okay?"

Caroline stiffens, dropping the cigarette onto the ground and stomping on it. She pretends it's Damon's face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Distract," he says, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Buy some cute underwear and keep Darth Hybrid _occupied_—don't hit me, Elena, fuck."

Caroline chooses to be the bigger person and doesn't acknowledge his comments—besides, she can hear Elena still furiously berating him. "You two have to leave wherever it is you live," she warns quietly, fingers drumming against the back of the phone. "Klaus and Rebekah know where you are."

"Already packed," Damon says dismissively. "Tell us something we don't know."

Taking a ragged breath, Caroline says lowly into the phone, "I hope I don't see you anytime soon, okay?"

Elena's voice comes back over the line. "Care, promise me you'll be careful. Don't—" she sighs again and Caroline shakes her head slightly.

"I will," she promises before hanging up.

She finds herself staring out at the Mississippi River, the ocean liners lit in the distance. She stays on the waterfront for a few quiet minutes after hanging up, watching light of the streetlamps dance on the waves.

.

.

.

It's three in the morning and Caroline winds up at Café du Monde with the rest of the drunken members of the city—though she's far more sober than she'd like to be. She dives into a steaming plate of beignets—or, as she's tempted to call them, _manna from fucking heaven_—and doesn't come up for air until the hair on her arms stands up. Before she looks up, she polishes off the last beignet and takes a long sip from the cup of water next to her plate.

"It's all bullshit," she informs him flatly, finally looking up as she dabs powdered sugar away from the corner of her mouth. Klaus drops easily into the plastic chair across from her and arches a questioning eyebrow at her. She takes personal pleasure at the way his nose wrinkles slightly at the smell of smoke on her hair.

"Pray tell," he invites dryly and she finishes off her plate before answering him.

"First," she holds up a finger, "the hundred year clock was complete crap." He looks amused and doesn't contest the point, so she continues. "If finding out where Bonnie went was as easy as getting a voodoo witch doctor to perform a stupid ritual for you—"

"Ah, but darling," he cuts in, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. "I can assure that was hardly _easy_."

She waves him off dismissively. "Whatever. It was still _crap_. Pure and unadulterated. Why wait a hundred years when you could've gotten Original Recipe Bonnie instead of her descendants? To make sure we all lived our lives looking over our shoulder for you?"

Before Klaus can answer, she goes on, holding up a second finger. "Two. You kidnapped me for my ring." His face darkens but he doesn't interrupt. "You know exactly where Damon and Elena are, you know that Bonnie made both of our rings, and for the Double Jeopardy bonus round—you probably need her _anyway_." The fingers she's holding up shake slightly. "But you decided to take mine. That's why you cornered me in Stockholm and that's why you dragged me to the middle of a freaking swamp." Caroline pins him with a disgusted look and to her astonishment, his eyes flicker down to the table. "And you know that not only do I have no choice but to stick around until I get another ring, but that I also won't let you hurt innocent people—especially Bonnie's family. Masterful manipulation on your part, but bullshit it remains."

So quickly that she doesn't see him move, he's got her fingers trapped in his. "Bonnie disappeared with Jeremy Gilbert," he tells her quietly and although Caroline can't say she's surprised—hell, she'd guessed it herself—the certainty in his voice still makes her start a little. "Ayana was not a fool when it came to protecting her hunters, Caroline. The ritual would have never worked as long as they remained together." He lets go and leans back in his seat, folding his hands behind his head and observing her far too closely for her liking.

"And me?" she asks, staring at him.

This time he doesn't drop his gaze. "The doppelganger is not required." The dark look in his eyes fades as he adds lightly, "And I prefer you."

She scowls back. "And I'd _prefer_ if you'd drown in the Mississippi but we can't always get what we want."

Those blue eyes slowly sweep over her and she fights back the blush threatening to spread across her face. "No," he agrees slowly, eyes hot on her face. "We can't."

.

.

.

Caroline will totally dwell on the shitty circumstances later, but for now—

It's almost comical, how she basically tackles Stefan.

She had almost convinced herself that her life in Mystic Falls had never existed, that Stefan and Elena and Bonnie and Tyler were all in her imagination and she was pining not for ghosts but for the insane ramblings of someone who has lived too long.

But here he is in the salty, unseasonably sweltering heat of New Orleans and Caroline buries her face into his chest, inhaling deeply. He smells like the boarding house, even after all this time and the familiarity of it is nearly overwhelming. His hair is a little longer and his arms around her tighten like he's seriously considering never letting her go. "I missed you so much," she whispers into his shoulder and he laughs.

"We bloody get it," Rebekah says irritably. "You're the two best friends anyone has ever had. Enough already."

Caroline opens her eyes and gives Stefan a final squeeze—mostly because she's seriously missed him, but a little bit to piss off Rebekah—before backing away.

"Klaus. Rebekah," Stefan says coldly, jerking his head once in greeting. He slings his bag over his shoulder and stares down his nose at them. "This better be good."

The displeased tilt to Klaus's mouth disappears. "Believe me, mate," he says, dimples flashing. "It is."

"So he says," Caroline says under her breath. Stefan's expression is blank but he drapes one arm over her shoulders as they walk. Rebekah's face turns murderous.

It's somehow hotter and more humid outside the airport than it was before they went in. Global warming's a bitch, she thinks bitterly—below zero in Stockholm and currently over ninety _at night_ in New Orleans.

Caroline pulls her hair off her neck and ties it into a sloppy ponytail, catching Stefan's eye as she fixes the elastic. She casts a pointed glance in Klaus's direction as he leads the way down to the waiting car. One of Stefan's eyebrows lifts slightly and Caroline shakes her head just slightly—an entire conversation without speaking a single word.

"Spit it out or I'm walking," Stefan says bluntly, his arm dropping from Caroline. Klaus turns slight and raises a single inquisitive eyebrow and Stefan elaborates, "Care's a big girl and if I'm not mistaken, you've got an itch she won't let you scratch—" He casts a curious look Caroline's way and smirks a little when she wrinkles her nose and mutters, "In his dreams."

Stefan turns his attention back to Klaus, who's staring at the two of them like he'd love nothing more than to stake them both with the door handle. "So yeah, I'm not too worried for her well-being. And," he adds, tossing his bag in the trunk and giving it a good slam shut, "You'd be surprised how few fucks I give about the cure."

Klaus doesn't look the slightest bit surprised. "Then it's a good thing no one's looking for it for you, mate," he replies carelessly, opening the door to the car for Caroline. She scowls at him and promptly strides to the other side, yanking the door open for herself.

When they reach the apartment, Stefan drops his bag next to the doorway and drawls loudly, "Quit stalling, Klaus."

"Oh, calm down, Stefan. All in good time," Rebekah chides, heading towards the liquor cabinet and pulling out two bottles of bourbon. "Go on and tell them, Nik."

Caroline's stomach does a nervous roll at the twitch of Klaus's mouth.

"We're raising Silas," he says, and Caroline blinks because he did not just say that with all the ease of _we're going grocery shopping at three_.

"But—but didn't—" she stammers, trying to think of a way to bring up Kol and his gruesome end without getting her neck snapped.

Stefan beats her to the punch and doesn't mince words about it. "Didn't your kid brother die trying to prevent exactly that?" he asks pointedly and both Rebekah and Klaus flinch.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Klaus responds gruffly, taking a long sip of his bourbon, his eyes hooded and unreadable.

Stefan mirrors the action, his eyes never leaving Klaus's. Caroline starts to fidget, wondering if they're about to start hitting each other and she reaches for Stefan. Klaus's eyes narrow at the movement and he looks like he wants to rip Stefan's hand right off of his arm. Caroline lets go immediately.

"Why do you need a Bennett?" Stefan asks, setting his now empty glass down on the table and crossing his arms. "What about Elena?"

"What about that horrid bint?" Rebekah interjects, leaning forward. "She's not necessary. She's utterly useless, as always." Amusement briefly flashes across Stefan's face and the irritation in Rebekah's face fades slightly. Caroline wants to barf.

"A Bennett witch is needed because a Bennett witch put Silas in the ground," Klaus says and Caroline straightens.

"Ayana put him there," she guesses and Rebekah laughs from across the room.

"Ayana was a thousand years after Silas," she says dismissively and Caroline slumps a little back into her seat. "Qetsiyah was her ancestor. The originator of the Bennett line, if you will."

For a moment there is silence as the clock ticks steadily from the mantle. "You don't need them to do any magic," Caroline realizes quietly, eyes widening at Klaus. It's stupid and ridiculous, considering who he is and their various sides, but a thread of betrayal still weaves its way through her heart. "You need them to die."

Klaus's expression is unreadable and his lips begin to part in response, but it's Rebekah who answers. "Blood is the ultimate life source, Caroline. You should know that by now."

Stefan's foot taps restlessly against his knee. "Bonnie would have done it," he says slowly. "Bonnie would have sacrificed herself." Caroline pulls away from him irritably and glares.

"So Bonnie's life isn't—wasn't worth as much as ours?" she snaps at him and Stefan sighs.

"That's not what I'm saying, Care," he responds exasperatedly, a tired hand running over his scalp. "I'm just pointing out that Bonnie would—and did—put her life on the line for us, so why would she take off at the prospect of doing it again?"

Caroline's forehead burrows and she pinches the bridge of her nose. "Jeremy," she says finally, leaning back in her seat.

"Yes, the young Mr. Gilbert figured out that only the death of the girl he loved could cure his sister," Klaus drawls, his pointer finger lazily circling the rim of his glass. "And as his sister was never actually unavailable to him…" he gives a short, humorless laugh. "Well, who hasn't betrayed family for love?"

Before Caroline can so much as frown in confusion, there's a sharp inhalation of breath from Rebekah. "That's not fair, Nik," she whispers before getting up and retreating to the adjoining bedroom. There is no slamming of the door, no yelling and Caroline feels a brief flash of sympathy for the other girl.

"Way harsh, Tai," she mutters under breath and Klaus turns nearly black eyes on the two of them. Her fingers dig nervously into the sofa cushions.

But then he stands and says calmly, "We're leaving tomorrow, so you two had best rest up."

"And where exactly are we going?" Stefan demands. Caroline leans forward and buries her face in her hands.

"Where do you think?" she asks, her voice muffled. "We're going home."

.

.

.

**tbc.**

* * *

A/N: So Mardi Gras is actually Tuesday (a group of my friends is currently in New Orleans celebrating and I'm so unamused that I have to work). But yes, consider this your Fat Tuesday present and go eat some beignets because I wasn't lying—they're actually manna from heaven. King cake is also acceptable, but be sure to tell me if you get the baby!

Laissez les bons temps rouler!


End file.
